


On A Clear Day

by brittanafan



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Canon Lesbian Relationship, Children, F/F, F/M, Family Drama, Flashback, FtM Transgender, Future Fic, Gender Dysphoria, Homophobia, Medical Trauma, Minor Character Death, Outing, POV Multiple, POV Second Person, Sexual Experimentation, Transgender, Transphobia, Underage Drinking, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-02-02
Updated: 2012-02-16
Packaged: 2017-10-30 12:54:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/331947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brittanafan/pseuds/brittanafan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The year is 2025. Brittany, Santino and their kids travel to Lima, Ohio to attend Mr. Shuester's funeral. Trouble is, most of the gleeks(who are also in attendance) don't know that the Santana they went to school with is transgender, and has only recently completed the transition from female to male. How will they react when they find out and meet "Santino" for the first time?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Present Day, Brittany

**Author's Note:**

> Alternating chapters are flashbacks to events in Santana's or Brittany's past that help explain how the couple got to where they are today. As well as gives us glimpses into important events and incidents that greatly influenced the further development of the characters and their relationships. 
> 
> The POV is Second Person, and the individual who's perspective is being used will change for each chapter, but will always be labeled.
> 
> This fic is Canon up until 3x04 and then it deviates according to my own backstory.

The bathroom is eerily quiet as you run your fingers through your fully saturated, long, blonde locks. Excess conditioner clings to your palms as you scrape your nails over your scalp, and you momentarily situate them directly beneath the shower head, letting the force of the surprisingly still hot water clean them for you. Not liking the silence, you begin humming the first tune to pop into your head.

"We shoulda brought the small iPod speakers." You pause in your melody to shout across the steamy bathroom. There's no response but you can hear items being shuffled around on the expansive hotel sink and know San's at least listening. Shrugging your shoulders, you continue on with your song, adding a few lyrics here and there as you lean forward and let the water rinse the last of the product from your now fully cleansed hair.

Turning off the taps, you take a step back and begin squeezing the water from your hair, not wanting to use too many of the hotel's towels on just yourself. Brushing your damp hair behind your ears, you grin as you stare down at your toes, wiggling them beneath the water of the slowly draining bathtub. As your eyes travel back upwards, you can't help but pause at the forming bump that is your abdomen. Running both your hands delicately over your swollen stomach, you unconsciously begin humming again.

"San, wanna hand me a towel?" Pushing at the shower curtain slightly with one hand, you outstretch the other, gripping the air expectantly. Only there's no movement in your direction, much less anything being pressed into your grasp. Frowning, you toss open the curtain fully and wince as the steam that had been mostly contained in your half of the bathroom begins to travel towards your silent and unresponsive partner. 

"Oh, don't you dare shave!" You exclaim suddenly, your eyes focusing in on your lover, poised at the sink, razor in hand. Stepping carefully out of the tub, you reach for a clean towel and hastily wrap it around your body, tucking the ends together over your chest. "Two years! It took you two years!" Reaching the sink, you easily maneuver the throw away razor from San's hand, dropping it in the trash can beneath the counter.

"Brit.. I.." Brown eyes suddenly turn to you, searching your face for reassurance as the person you love more than life itself starts to tremble. Sighing, you wrap your arms around your lovers shoulders, pressing your covered chest into their naked one. "Maybe I should.. I mean.. it might be easier if I.."

Pulling back suddenly, your expression is enough for San to stop talking. "No. No more hiding. No more pretending. If I wanted easy, I wouldn't have agreed to marry you." You smirk playfully at this, running a hand up San's shoulder and neck and stopping at the patch of black hair covering their chin. Brushing your thumb through the familiar and much adored goatee, you notice that your words and actions haven't managed to quell your partners fears.

"But what if they-"

"No, no buts." You interrupt, shaking your head before leaning in and pressing a kiss to the only set of lips you could ever imagine waking up to in the morning. "You are who you are, Santino, and if the others can't accept that, then we'll just leave." You really don't want to leave early, not at least until you have both managed to pay your respects to the person who had helped you so much throughout high school. To the teacher that was partially responsible for your happiness, for your family, for San's life.

You watch in silence as the man you love, the man you married and raised two children with, begins to tear up. "Oh hunny, please don't start. If you start, I'll start and then the kids will start and we'll end up this big giant mess and we'll never get to the cemetery on time." This seems to steady your partner, and they wipe the back of their hand over their eyes before pulling you back into a tight embrace.

"I love you Brittany. I love you so much."

"I know," despite your words, your unable to stop your own tears from streaming down your cheeks as you rest your head on your husband's bare shoulder, "I love you too."


	2. Flashback - San

Furrowing your brows, you turn sideways and study your profile in the full length bathroom mirror. Despite your lack of stomach fat, you still suck in your gut as you press your hands firmly over the bandage covering your breasts. "Ugh..." The disgust emanates from your throat as you continue to scrutinize your appearance. You've been binding your chest for a few months now, having learnt the technique from an online website. "Fucking implants..." Despite your prowess at such procedures, the fact remains that there's only so much 'flattening' to be achieved with two bags of silicone in the way.

Turning again so your facing the mirror directly, you release your hands and let out your gut in defeat. It'll have to do. Reaching towards the hamper, you pick up the shirt you'd placed there earlier and slip it on over your head, careful not to brush the neckline against your already made up face. The shirt lays nicely over your relatively smooth torso, though you can't help but feel self conscious of the small bump in the contour where your smashed breasts reside. "It's just drag... it's fine... it'll be dark..." You reassure yourself aloud, fiddling with the hem of your Abercrombie shirt, unsure whether you should tuck it into your baggy jeans or leave it loose.

Deciding on tucking the front half in and leaving the back free, you then turn to the sink where you've left your hair ties and the finishing touches to your outfit: your NY Yankees baseball cap. Sliding your fingers through your thick, lengthy, brunette hair, you start to gather the pieces together up into a bun when suddenly the sound of the front door opening resonates throughout your apartment and through the open bathroom door. "Rikki?" You can't see your wristwatch, but would have sworn you had at least another twenty minutes before your cousin was due to pick you up.

At first there's no response, so you continue to twist your hair in your hands, assuming your cousin was just early and didn't feel like sitting in the car. "You better not be drinking already!" You shout outside the doorframe, knowing your cousin had the good sense not to drink  _before_  getting to the club, but also knowing he never passed up free beer when he was over. Almost ready to put the tie into your bun, you feel your heart practically stop when the voice that responds is not your cousins.

"San, honey? I wasn't feeling well so I decided to come home early. Sara and I stopped at Wendy's on the way home and we've got some spicy chicken nuggets and a frostee with your name on it. I don't know if you usually eat before or after your class." Brittany's voice was growing louder and louder as she worked her way through the apartment, eventually heading down the back hall towards the bathroom you were currently occupying.

 _Shit, shit, shit!_  Grabbing the door, you quickly close and lock it; your hair having fallen back around your shoulders since you'd not managed to get the tie in before reacting. "Oh this is not good..  _not good._ " You groan, gripping the sink and staring across at your reflection in the small mirror above it. Staring back at you is a figure with your eyes, your hair, all the same features really, except this individual also had a goatee painted on in stage makeup. Up close, it was easy to tell that it wasn't real, but that was the great part about performing on a  _stage_.

"Santana?" Brittany's voice is getting closer down the hallway, and you quickly turn on the taps, grabbing a washcloth and soaking it. If you can get the makeup off, then perhaps the rest could be explained in some manner that didn't include telling your girlfriend of over a decade that you don't actually have a late class on thursday nights, but have been performing in a drag show at one of the gay bars in the city for the past six weeks. "San?" Your girlfriends voice is right outside the door now, and you hold your breath, not knowing what to do.

 _Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me._  You groan internally as you watch the doorknob jiggle. You've started to scrub at your face, but the makeup you had used had already set and was being a bitch to remove. "Santana- The door's locked... I really need to use-"

"Hey, BrittBritt!" You interrupt, keeping one eye on the door, and the other on the mirror as you scrub furiously at your face. "I'm actually kinda in the middle of something, can you give me a few minutes?"

Despite your words, the tugging at the doorknob hasn't ceased, it's actually become more frantic. "San, I'm really not feeling well.. I think I need to- really, I'm gonna-" You drop the washcloth in the sink, forgetting instantly about your makeup as you listen to your lovers voice waver and then cease completely. Before you can even formulate the girls name on your lips, there's suddenly the sound of retching and a figure dropping to the floor.

Forgetting instantly about your appearance, you unlock and toss the door open only to spot your partner on her hands and knees, vomiting onto the carpet. "Brittany!" Dropping to your knees, you immediately place a hand on the girls back and begin rubbing in soothing circles as she continues to bring up what looks and unfortunately smells like Wendy's. "Geeze, I'm sorry, I didn't even think..." You briefly contemplate going back into the bathroom to fetch the small trash can for her, but she's already stained the carpet so there's no sense in leaving her side. "Shhhhh... It's okay..." You whisper soothingly as the girl seems to finish expelling her dinner.

"Mommy?" You glance up at the tearful and tentative voice of your 4 year old daughter. The girl is standing a few feet down the hallway, her slender, tan arms wrapped protectively around her torso as she watches in fright her mother being ill.

"Sara, mija, it's okay. Mommy's tummy is just upset. You know how the baby makes mommy's tummy more sensitive, right?" You reach a hand out to your daughter as you try and reassure her. Only the moment the two of you make eye contact, her eyes widen even further as she lets out a terrified scream. "Sara!" You watch in momentary confusion as the girl backs up down the hallway and then turns, running into her bedroom, her scream having turned to fearful sobs by the time she's slammed her door shut.

It's not until the woman still hunched on the floor starts to sit up and turn to you that you realize what it was that had scared the girl. There's nothing you can do but simply sit there and let your lover witness you like this for the first time.  _Please don't freak out, please don't freak out, please don't freak-_

"Santana?" You had managed to close your eyes before your girlfriend could fully turn to you, so have no idea what her expression may be. Her voice is somewhat confused, but mostly still shaky from having just been ill. You hear her spit a few times and mentally kick yourself for being such a fucking coward, unable to ignore your own shame and get your pregnant lover some water to clean her mouth out. "I don't- I don't understand-" There's no anger, just more confusion, and then the feel of the girls fingers on your face, tracing the smudged faux facial hair almost delicately.

Shaking your head, you reach up and take the girls hand in yours, bringing it away from your face. Tears have begun streaming down your cheeks but you refuse to open your eyes and see the horrified or disgusted or devastated look on woman's face. You hadn't wanted to hurt her, not after everything you had already put her through, which is why you had lied to her about having an evening class the same night she had to stay late at the studio. Normally your cousin would pick you up before she'd returned, and dropped you off hours after she'd have gone to sleep. It had worked perfectly for the past month and a half.

"San, look at me." You shake your head and bring your arms up in front of your face; partially to hide yourself from the girl, and partially to soak up the wetness. Her hands are on you again, this time tugging at your arms, bringing them back into your lap before returning to cup at your cheeks. "Baby, look at me.  _Please_."

Brittany's voice is so soft and reassuring, you can't help but slowly blink your eyes open. The girl's thumbs have moved to wipe at the tears directly beneath your eyes and you desperately try to keep from producing even more at the undeserved gesture. "Britt- I-" You falter, not really knowing what to say at this point. You should have never come back. If you had just stayed in Lima, then Brittany wouldn't have had to see you like this.  _Sara_  wouldn't have had to see you like this. "I- I'm sorry."

Despite having just been ill, the woman before you continues to rub and stroke at your cheeks, her mouth parted slightly as she lets out a few soothing murmurs. "Shhh, honey, it's okay..." Her ocean blue eyes are boring into yours and you just know your going to start crying again. "Is this... is this why you left? Is this why you've been so unhappy?" You only whimper at this and try to pull your head away. "Baby,  _please_.  _Please_  talk to me." She has tears in her own eyes now and it takes everything inside of you not to get up and run. "I love you, Santana. Your  _daughter_ loves you. Whatever this is, whatever this means, I promise it's not going to change how we feel about you."

You shake your head as best you can in her grip, your entire body trembling at this point. You want to believe her. You want  _so badly_  to believe her when she says that she won't stop loving you. That Sara won't stop loving you. "Honey, it's okay. It's going to be  _okay._ " Her arms are around your shoulders now, pulling you into her chest. Letting out a strangled sob, you quickly bury your face into her neck, your own hands winding desperately into the fabric of her sweater. How can it be okay when you've been hiding such a huge secret from the woman you love for so long? Your entire life has been a lie, and in effect, so has your relationship with the woman currently rocking you in their arms. "It's  _okay_."

You're sobbing freely now and shake your head against her neck. "No... Britt... it's  _not okay..._ " How can it be okay that the person you've  _been_  has never actually felt like the person you  _are?_  How can it be okay that for as long as you can remember, you've felt like you've been living in the wrong body? How can it be okay that, deep inside, you wish more than anything that you had been born a man?


	3. Present Day - Sara

"Mooooom, pleeeease, I can do it myself." You grumble, wincing as a few hairs are pulled from your scalp as your mom attempts to brush out the tangles. Your hair is being particularly unruly since you weren't allowed to shower that morning, instead having been forced to do so the previous night. Going to sleep with your hair still wet was always a recipe for disaster, but your mom hadn't felt well and so hadn't been able to blow dry it for you. You'd toyed with asking your dad, but the last time you'd done so, he'd spent the entire time citing the praises of 'short hairstyles'. Nuh uh, you _liked_  your long, jet black hair, even if it took ages to make presentable. "Oww Mom!"

"Sorry baby." Your mom soothes from her spot on the bed behind you. Rolling your eyes, you grumble once more how it would be easier if you were allowed to style your hair yourself. You had just turned eleven; it's not like you were a kid anymore. Besides, you were only going to a funeral, so a simple pony tail would have sufficed, right? "Honey, please, stop squirming. You're wrinkling your dress." The comb in your hair has snagged again and you can tell your mother is getting frustrated. "San, honey, you think you can do something with Sara's hair? It's worse than yours used to be..." Reaching back, you are about to grab for the brush yourself when your dad appears in the doorway of the hotel's bathroom.

"Yeah, sure, but uh, first, what do you think?" Your mom lets go of the brush in order to clap her hands over her mouth, and you roll your eyes once more at how easily she gets excited these days. Taking the discarded item, you scoot down the mattress a little, smiling up at your dad and brother as they show off their matching suits. "The jacket's still too big for him, but with the vest he should be warm enough, right?" You watch as your dad looks between your brother and your mom, uncertainty etched all over his face. "I mean, it's june so it should be okay. Then again, we're going to be in a church-"

Your mom interrupts his sudden panic, pulling herself from the bed and taking the boy into her arms. "San, he'll be fine. Relax." She presses a sloppy kiss to the four year olds tanned cheek, causing the boy to start laughing in that adorable way of his. While this is going on, you've begun pulling at the knots in your hair, working the brush through in the hopes you can get it finished before your dad actually does try to help you. You vaguely remember him having long hair like yours, back when he was still your Mami, but that was  _ages_  ago and therefor didn't count.

"Sara, please wait for your dad to help you." Your mom is frowning at you now, her eyes focused on the large tangle you'd just yanked free. Sighing, you set the brush down and lean back onto your elbows, careful not to crinkle your dress too much. William is still giggling, though he's begun to spit up his breakfast down the front of his new outfit. "Nice one, Will." Your mom notices, wiping it away with one of the many cloths reserved for such a purpose. "This is why we don't own nice clothes." She laughs, dabbing at the offending stain on his previously pristine shirt.

You smirk at this, knowing full well that your parents have a  _ton_  of nice clothing in their closets back home in New York. They just never have an opportunity to wear them. Not since your brother was born, at least. "We're like the Addams family, with all this black." You muse, glancing back and forth between your parents. Your mom snorts at this, setting your brother onto the bed next to you. Her dress is a lot like yours, both black and shiny and ending just below the knee. Only where yours has short, puckered sleeves, hers is more of a spaghetti strap. Her shoulders are covered though by a knit jacket of sorts. She looks good, even with her budding stomach ruining the line of the outfit.

Your dad, on the other hand, is no stranger to wearing black. The vest and tie on the other hand... "Dad, you look like a butler." You grin up at him from your spot still reclined on the bed. "I like it though. It's very... refined..." You tease, suddenly hoping you had the right word. At his returned smirk, you only laugh and shrug your shoulders, glancing down to the brush that's still sitting next to you then back up at him. "It would be a shame to get my hair all over you."

"Uh huh, nice try." He's moving around the bed now, grabbing the brush and helping you into a sitting position. Turning so your back is to the foot of the bed, you ready yourself for the pain to come. As he begins pulling at the knots, you occupy yourself with making funny faces at your brother. "He can't see you honey." Your dad points out, prodding at your shoulder and then motioning towards the boy's glasses that sit on the nightstand next to his hearing aids. Your mom pauses from the bags of supplies she's organizing in order to take them and perch them on his nose and behind his ears.

Once the insanely thick lenses are in place, the previously inattentive boy glances up at the hands you have begun waving in front of his face. "Hi cutey." You smile across at him, then begin making funny faces once more. This gets the boy giggling, his tiny hands flopping as he waves his arms in your direction. He may have been four, but developmental wise he was still a baby. Your parents had explained it to you a few times, about how being born so early meant he hadn't had time to fully develop his senses. You know that this is only partially true and that it also had to do with the machines he was on at the hospital for almost the entire first year of his life.

"Sara, baby, do you uh, remember what we discussed last night?" Your dad's voice is shaky, causing you to sigh as you nod your head the best you can with his fingers now weaving through your hair. "About how some of the people we're going to see, um, may not, well, recognize me?" You wince at his faltering and look across at your mom. She's paused once more with her packing, this time taking a seat on the edge of the bed, pulling your brother into her lap. You can see that she wants to help your dad with what he's trying to say to you, but instead focuses on setting up your brother's hearing aids.

"It's okay dad, I get it." You reassure, wishing he was finished with your braid so you could turn around and look at him. You love your dad more than anything, but sometimes his complete lack of self esteem bothers you. That, and you had heard your parents arguing that morning over his facial hair as well as the subsequent cry-fest. "You were still a girl in high school, so they might freak out when they see you all handsome and stud like..." You raise a brow, hoping your attempt at humor will lighten the mood a little. You were old enough when he transitioned to still have some memories of him as your other mom. Plus, you were eleven; you  _totally_  understood these things. "Don't worry dad, I've got your back. If anyone tries to mess with you, I'll go all Brooklyn Heights on their as- I mean- butt."

You smirk at the chuckle that comes from behind you, choosing to ignore the 'look' your mother's giving you at your almost cursing. You know she's just as protective of your dad, and if not for the baby, would totally be on the front lines with you if someone started making fun of him. "Well, we're hoping it doesn't have to come to that, sweety. Though I know your dad appreciates you looking out for him." Your mom responds, having finished getting your brother ready and once more fussing with her bags. Your dad remains silent though, his hands still toying with your hair; your braid almost complete.

Once he's finished, you quickly pull yourself to your feet on the bed; turning and throwing your arms around him as you bury your face into his neck. "I love you daddy," you whisper, lifting your head and placing a kiss to his stubbly cheek. His eyes are red and puffy, clear signs that he's about to start crying. "Seriously, dad, it'll be okay. Just please don't cry on this dress. It's silk." You grin at the laugh that leaves his lips, resting your head on his shoulder as he tightens the embrace.

"I really hate to interrupt such a touching father, daughter moment, but if we don't leave soon, we're gonna be late." Your mom pipes up as she moves into your field of vision; bags over both shoulders with your brother perched precariously on her hip. You pull away first, pretending not to notice the tears that  _had_  made it onto your dress as you hop down off of the bed and begin to collect your things. "Honey, can you take him?" Your dad finishes wiping his eyes on the sleeve of his shirt before taking your brother into his arms. Even though he's tiny, your mother isn't supposed to carry him while she's pregnant.

"Hey little man." He coos, brushing the boy's puffy hair down with his hand. With his hearing aids in, the boy's face lights up at his fathers voice, his lips smacking together in a string of incoherent babbles. "You  _don't_   _say_?" Your dad laughs, placing a half dozen kisses to your brother's face. You pause from packing up your purse to watch the two, unable to hold back a snort as William once more spits up, this time down the front of your dad's vest. "You goober. You totally did that on purpose, didn't you?" Your mom tosses a cloth to your dad, rolling her eyes as he attempts to keep the mess from getting onto his white shirt beneath.

"Are we ready?" She has her purse over her other shoulder with your dad's jacket over her arm. "I've got your wallet and the hotel keys as well as the ones to the rental..." She looks like she's going over a shopping list in her head, her eyes squeezed shut as she concentrates on not forgetting anything. You absently take a look into your small, matching handbag, making sure your phone, ipod and other necessities are still there, despite having only just packed them moments ago. "I guess that's everything." Your mom nods, satisfied that she hasn't forgotten anything.

"Alright, let's do this." Your dad's voice isn't shaky anymore as he glances down at you, his free hand reaching out to take yours. Beaming back at him, you wrap your hand around his as you both exit out into the hotel hallway, your mom following and locking the room behind.


	4. Flashback - San

It's the absolute end of the world. There's not a single thing you can say or do to make the situation okay. Not that you haven't tried, of course, but your mother won't budge. It's as if your tears and swollen, puffy face are invisible to her and all she can see is the dress encasing your hysterical, heaving, five year old body. This is  _not_  what you thought would happen. This is  _not_  what you had envisioned for your first official school picture day. None of this was okay and your sobs are making it harder and harder to breath.

"Santana, you are wearing that dress and that is final." Your mother has begun tugging at your hair, parting the thick locks down the middle to make brushing easier. The stinging that comes from her pulling at your numerous tangles barely causes you to flinch. Physical pain is nothing compared to the resonating ache you feel inside your chest and stomach.

This isn't what you wanted. This isn't what you had imagined this day to be. You were supposed to be dressed in a fancy looking suit and tie, just like your older brothers in _their_  kindergarten photos. How could your mother do this to you? How could she turn something you had waited so long for, into something so absolutely horrible? How could she make you get your picture taken looking like  _this_?

"Mama... no qui- qui- quiero..." You can't even get the words out as she turns you around, marching you towards the full length mirror along the wall. Ignoring your pleas, she grips your chin in her hand and directs you to look at your reflection.

"This tomboy phase of yours needs to end, Santana. You are in school now. It's time you grew up and started acting like a  _lady_." Her words are harsh and loud and meaningless, and you only cry harder as you try and shake your head in her grasp. "Your brothers and I will be waiting in the car. If you're not cleaned up and outside in five minutes, we're leaving without you and then you'll have to wait till  _next_  year to be included on the 'Lopez Family Wall'. And I know how badly you want your picture up there with your brothers'..." Her sentence trails off as she lets go of you, and you immediately collapse forward onto your hands and knees, burying your tear stained face into the rough carpeting of your parent's bedroom floor.


	5. Present Day - Brittany

You're late. At least ten minutes or so and by the time your family enters the small church in the center of town, the memorial services has already started. Instinctively, you reach out and place a reassuring hand on your husbands arm. "It'll be okay." You whisper quietly as you navigate your family through the small foyer towards the closed double doors leading into the reception hall. It's your fault that you're late, or at least, the child your carrying's fault. The drive from the hotel to the church should have only taken 15 minutes, but you'd had a bit of a 'bladder emergency' along the way and there were a lot less gas stations in Lima than you remembered there being.

The double doors have two panes of glass on them, and you watch in amusement as Santino sidles up to the wall and attempts to sneak a peek through the glass without being seen by those already inside. It's funny because he's trying to be ninja, but with William in his arms and Sara holding onto his jacket, he can't get close enough to the doors without squashing one or both of the kids. "Brit... Everyone's probably seated already... If we go in there now-" You don't need him to finish his sentence to know what he's nervous about, so instead of letting him continue, you simply reach out and grasp the handle to one of the doors and pull it open.

At the sound of your opening the door, numerous heads swivel around to stare at the source of the interruption. He was right; everyone  _was_  already seated and you smile apologetically at the unfamiliar faces as you once more grasp your husbands arm and tug him into the room behind you. Your thankful that at least the service itself hadn't started, so you weren't interrupting anyone's eulogy.

With your grip still firmly on your lover's arm, you keep the three of you moving down the aisle between the rows of chairs. Puck had txted while you were still en route to say that he'd managed to snag an entire row so both your families could sit together. Scanning the sea of faces, you breath a small sigh of relief when you finally spot the familiar mohawk in the second row. "They're up front." You whisper to your right, wincing at the anxiety blatantly etched all over Santino's face. Nodding your head in the direction of your friends, you gently tug on his arm in the hopes that he'll calm down once he's seated next to Puck. "Baby, they saved us seats, come on."

The number of people watching you is slowly growing the longer you stand motionless in the middle of the aisle. Beads of sweat are forming on your husbands forehead as his breathing becomes shallow and forced. He's panicking, but even worse than that, he's panicking while still holding your son. It's not that you're worried he'll hurt him without realizing, it's that your son tends to attract unwanted attention due to his 'unique appearance' and sometimes your husband has a hard time reminding himself that they are looking at William and not at him. Not that either of you enjoy strangers scrutinizing and inspecting your baby, but after four years you're slowly growing used to the unsolicited curiosity.

"It's okay, let's just sit back there." As badly as you want your husband to stand up to his anxiety, you know that this isn't the time or place to push the issue, so turn and direct your family towards an empty row of chairs at the very back of the room. Taking a seat, you immediately pull William into your lap as Santino sinks into the chair next to you. Sara is on his other side, and you share a brief look with her, mouthing a silent 'thank you' when she wraps her arms around her father in comfort.

"It's okay Daddy. This way we don't have to be close to the dead body." She whispers matter-o-factually. He's still incredibly tense, but manages to wrap an arm around her shoulders and places a kiss to the top of her head. It hurts you to see him defeated so easily, but again, this isn't the moment to address his fears. Other than Puck and his wife, you hadn't spotted a single other familiar face. At least, none that had just been watching your families entrance.

Wanting to give your lover some time to collect himself, you turn your attention now to the boy in your lap, rolling your eyes at the continued deterioration of his new outfit. "You poor thing." You murmur sympathetically, reaching into the bag you'd set on the chair next to you for a clean rag. "At least it's this end and not the other, right?" You wipe as much of the latest mess as you can from the fabric before stuffing the dirty cloth into a separate compartment of the diaper bag. Next, you hunt around until you find one of your sons many pacifiers and after placing it in your mouth for a few seconds you press it to his lips, relaxing when he immediately latches on. It's not a foolproof solution, but you find he tends to spit up less if his mouth is otherwise occupied. And at this rate, you're going to be lucky if he makes it through the service without needing to be fed.

Hushed voices are still echoing around you as the rooms occupant continue to wait for the service to begin. It's at least twenty minutes past the hour, and the guilt you'd felt earlier at being late has already vanished. Glancing over at your husband, you study his taught face as he works at keeping himself composed. Sara is still resting against him, tho her eyes are actively canvasing the crowd. You're about to finally utter something reassuring, when your phone begins to vibrate from inside the bag by your feet. Balancing William on one leg, you awkwardly reach down around your swollen belly and begin to hunt through the pockets, finally finding your now silent mobile. Sitting back, you readjust your son so he's more evenly in your lap and glance at your phones screen.

**'is he okay? - puck'**

Looking up, you strain your neck to see over the crowd towards where your friends were sitting. Puck is turned around in his seat and you quickly nod your head once the two of you make eye contact. He doesn't look convinced, so you start to respond into your phone.

**'he thinks everyones staring at him. hell be okay once it starts'**

**'want us to come back there? - puck'**

You can't help but smile at the suggestion and the concern behind it. It's still strange to think that at one point in time your husband and Puck were together. Well, not your  _husband._ Not  _technically_ anyway.

**'i think well be okay. but thank you for offering.'**

**'no problemo mama. txt us if you need anything - puck'**

Turning your phone to silent, you place it down on the bag next to you, facing upwards so you could at least see it light up if you got another message. "Puck?" It's not so much a question as a statement, but you nod nonetheless. "He thinks i'm freaking out." Again with the statement, tho this time you simply shrug your shoulders in response. Despite the drastic differences between Puck and Santino's current bro-ship, and what they shared back in high school, the older boy still felt responsible for protecting his friend, or at least, watching out for him. It's actually kind of sweet, and even tho he would deny it outright, you know that Santino appreciates the support.

Placing a hand on on his leg, you squeeze his thigh gently in response. You've long since learned that physical reassurance is much more effective than anything you could possibly say. Pinky linking back in the day hadn't just been a convenient way to keep from being separated whist walking around. You grin at the sudden memories, and are half tempted to slide your little finger around the one your husband has clenched in his lap, but a sudden buzzing from inside his jacket steals the moment from you.

Pretending to be busy fussing over William's shirt collar, you watch from the corner of your eye as Santino reads his new txt. The worried tension that had been present on his face for the last few minutes begins to slip away, replaced by an almost embarrassed amusement. Without any prompting from you, he tilts his phone so you can read the message on its screen. "Oh he did  _not_." You balk, clasping your hand over your mouth as you realize the volume in your exclamation. San's laughing now, and it's almost enough to forgive your friends indiscretion just to see him carefree again. Almost.

Grabbing your own phone, you quickly scan through the contact last and type out your message.

**'are you aware that your husband is currently sexting my husband?'**

Barely three seconds go by before there is a high pitched yelp and you peer over the heads in front of you just in time to see Lauren smacking her husband in the back of the head. Also noticing, Santino bumps his shoulder against yours and you look at him innocently. "What?" He only shakes his head and leans forward, pressing his lips gently to yours. Closing your eyes, you melt into the kiss, forgetting for the moment everything that is going on around you. That is, until the phone still in his hands begins to vibrate again.

"Mom, Dad, you're embarrassing me." Sara's voice interrupts at the same time, and you reluctantly pull away, tho not before placing one last kiss to your lovers nose. Mirroring the stupid grin currently on his face, you look down at your daughter apologetically. "No, not the  _kissing_. Your phones. It's  _rude_." Rolling your eyes, you run a hand over the girl's cheek, unable to hold back the laugh at how stern she's trying to appear. "I'm serious. You don't like people looking at you, but you'll sit and txt in the middle of a funeral."

"No, she's right, sorry baby." Santino is quick to respond, and while you're grateful that your daughter is actively concerned for your families outward appearance, you wish that could have found a better way of expressing her displeasure that didn't result in the reappearance of 'anxious, self conscious Santino'. She does notice tho that her words have had an unintended negative effect on her dad, and looks back at you for help.

You're about to tell her that it's fine, that she didn't do anything wrong, but a loud crackling of feedback erupts from the speakers around the room and all of your attentions are quickly drawn to the petite, ginger haired woman standing behind the podium at the front of the room. You immediately recognize Mrs. Emma Pillsbury-Shuester, and without consciously thinking about it, your hand finds its way into your husbands lap, his pinky finger wrapping tightly around yours as the service finally, officially, begins.


	6. Flashback - Sara

It's only been two days and already you miss your Uncle Puck and Aunt Lauren. Even your annoying cousins would have been a welcome distraction from the unpleasantness that is your current situation. Swinging your arms idly back and forth, you do your best to keep up with your parents, while still keeping a good distance between yourself and them. This is the first time your baby brother has been brought out of the apartment, and with your mom constantly fussing over his tubes and wires and the noisy machines attached to his stroller, you doubt she'd even notice if you'd disappeared from the path behind them completely.

Your dad is pushing the specially built stroller, though his attention seems focused on everyone in the park  _except_ your brother. As you walk slowly down the familiar trail, you keep catching yourself hoping that at any moment, he'll notice your absence from his side. You're eight, and this is Central Park; shouldn't your parents be keeping an eye on you as well?

Kicking a stone off the dirt and into the grass, you feel your heart skip a beat when your fathers voice suddenly cries out, slicing through the otherwise relative peace. Freezing in your spot about twenty feet away, you hold your breath and wait for him to turn around and spot you. From your distance, you can't make out his words, but the tone of his voice lets you know that he's definitely angry. The thought of getting in trouble doesn't scare you like it used to; you actually prefer being reprimanded over being ignored.

It's not that your parents don't give you  _any_  attention. After your brother was born and your aunt and uncle moved in, you'd spent quite a lot of time with your dad. Definitely more time than you'd spent with your mom, who had basically moved into the hospital to be with your brother since he was so sick. Even though you'd missed your mom, you weren't mad at her. You understood that even though she wasn't home very much, she still loved you. It was oddly comforting, and nowhere near as upsetting as when your daddy, who was still your mamma at the time, had gone away.

You were only four at the time, but you still remember waking up every morning and going into your parents room, climbing into their enormous bed with the hope that your mamma would magically be there waiting to surprise you. Even though your mamma  _did_  eventually come back, you couldn't help but sometimes wish she could still be the same person she had been before she'd left. It's not that you don't love your daddy, but your mamma never used to yell in the way he's doing right now. Shaking yourself fully from your memories, you frown as you realize that the individual your daddy is yelling at  _isn't_  you, but some stranger who must have been looking at him or walking too closely by.

Kicking another stone off the path, you grudgingly amble your way closer to the growing spectacle that is your fathers rage. You can make out his words now, and apparently this terrified looking jogger had been 'judging him and his family' and was about to 'get a foot up the ass' if he didn't move along and mind his own business. It's a little startling, hearing your dad curse, but more so than that, he's ignoring your mothers pleas to calm down.

Speeding up your arrival, you cast your own warning glance at the quickly departing stranger. He looks thoroughly intimidated, if not a little terrified, and you wonder exactly what it was that he'd done to upset your dad so much. You know your dad doesn't like to be stared at, but usually he just gets really anxious and shy and leaves. Maybe it was because your brother was there, and your dad couldn't just abandon your mom and him in order to leave the park. Then again, he  _had_  left your mother alone with you once before, and that had been for  _months_. Cause even though he was still your mamma back then, it still counted as something your daddy did, right?

"I don't care if he was looking, San, you can't just start threatening people with violence every time we go out in public!" You notice now that your mother is also yelling, and you instinctively edge closer to your father. As loud and imposing as your dad is when he's mad, your mother is absolutely terrifying. Not that she's ever been mad at you, but you've seen her fighting with not just your dad, but with your uncle on many previous occasions. It's a scary thing to witness, and you wonder briefly if you should try and wheel your brother away from them in order to protect or shield him from the escalating scene.

"This is why we shouldn't even be out here, Brit! It's too soon for him! With all the equipment and wires and stuff, people are always going to be stopping to stare at him!" Your mom has tightened her grip on the stroller now, dashing any hopes you may have had at being able to remove William from the fight. "He's not a freak in a circus, B! It's not right that we're doing this to him!" You automatically clench at the 'f' word, knowing how both your parents feel about the use of it, particularly when it came to your brother. Glancing up at your mom, you can see that she's about three seconds from breaking down, and wish more than anything that there was something you could do or say to make them not mad at each other anymore.

As expected, your mom's face turns bright red as the tears she'd been so desperately trying to hold back begin to flow freely down her face. Instead of yelling back at your dad, though, she turns her attention on your brother, who strangely enough, hasn't made a single noise this entire time. "What are you doing?" Your dad reacts immediately as your mom begins to disconnect the wires sticking out of his tiny shirt. Next she pulls away the weird looking tube thing that normally sits beneath his nose and around his ears, letting it hang freely over the top of the stroller. "Brit, what the  _hell_  are you doing!"

You jump again, tho this time closer to your mother. You don't recognize the expression on your dads face, and as scared as you'd been before, you're not even sure there's a  _word_  for what you're currently feeling. "I'm taking my son to the park to see the ducks. What does it look like I'm doing?" Your mother's voice is oddly calm, which only seems to anger your dad further.

"It looks like you're trying to kill him!" He immediately shouts back, his voice almost as high pitched as your moms gets when she's yelling. Stepping away from both of them now, you scan the immediate vicinity around you, some small part of you hoping to spot someone that could step in and help calm the situation in the way your and aunt uncle used to do. Unfortunately, there's no such person around, and things are only growing more frantic as your dad literally starts to chase your mom, who now has your brother in her arms, down the grass and towards the water's edge. "Brittany! Stop! Oh God!"

You stay rooted to the spot, your hands clutching tightly to your brothers now vacant and useless stroller as you watch your mom stop just short of the water before turning around to face your dad. They're not too far away that you can't hear your mother's sobs or your dad's frantic breathing as he approaches her. He doesn't look angry anymore; only scared. Horrified even. His focus is on your brother, who, for his part, seems to be just fine nestled in your mothers arms. "Brittany, what the hell are-"

"You're ruining it, San!" Your mother interrupts, finding one last burst of energy inside herself. "I just wanted to take my son to see the ducks and you're  _ruining it_   _for me!_ " She somehow manages to collapse to the grass without squishing William in the process, and begins to sob even louder than before. Your father seems struck by her words, and strangely enough, for the first time seems to notice your absence. Perhaps it's because for the past year, you had been one of his main supports, second only really to Puck. While your mom and your aunt had spent nearly all their time with your brother, you had been left to help your uncle take care of your father. And now that your uncle was gone, you were on your own.

Leaving the security of the stroller, you find yourself scrambling down the grass; throwing your arms around your father just as he too collapses to the ground. "I'm sorry Brit... I'm so sorry..." He's crying into your hair, his arms wrapped tightly around your torso as he hugs you to his chest. It's constricting and uncomfortable, but you don't complain; knowing he needs your comfort just as much as he does your mothers forgiveness. "I'm so sorry..."

Your mom is rocking your brother back and forth, mirroring the action your dad is now doing with you in his arms. She isn't crying anymore. At least, not out loud, and it takes a good minute or two before she lifts her head enough for you and your dad to be able to see her devastated, tear stained face. If you weren't already imprisoned in your dads lap, you'd have immediately tried crawling into your moms. "Please don't be sad Mommy." You finally speak up, outstretching your arm and splaying your fingers in an added effort to be able to reach her. She's still too far away, but before you can start protesting your immobility, she's reaching her own hand out; grasping onto yours tightly and securely. It's then that you realize you have tears streaming down your own face, and you simply blink through them as you crane your neck upwards towards your father. "Daddy?" You don't elaborate, but he immediately seems to understand and is soon reaching over your shoulder to rest his own hand atop your mothers.

At the connection, they instantly both look up, staring across into each others eyes. If the situation had been any different, you'd have started making grossed out noises at the obvious love being communicated and exchanged in their simple, yet intense glance. But even at your young age, you know that what's going on between your parents in that moment is more than just mushy, lovey dovey, mommy and daddy feelings.

Not wanting to interrupt, you focus instead on your brother; the tiny one year old actually looking more relaxed than he usually does in his special crib back at home. You smile at this, realizing that he must also feel the 'whatever it is' going on between your parents. Dropping your hand from beneath your mom's, you attempt to wriggle out of your dad's lap, surprised at first by how easily he lets you go.

Crawling across the tiny stretch of grass, you situate yourself next to your mom and gently reach your hand now towards your brother. As your fingertips make contact with his chest, he lets out a gurgle and you swear his eyes have turned to focus up at you. Smiling down at him, you rest your palm flat on his torso; your tiny hand spanning nearly his entire body.

He's gone back to staring off into space, but it doesn't matter because you  _know_  he knows who you are and what you're trying to say. Just like your parents are with each other, you find you don't need words when interacting with your brother. With your simple touch, you know he understands that you'll always be there for him and that you'll always love him. Even if, when he's older, the two of you have a fight, you'll never stop loving him. You're a family: you, your brother, your mommy and your daddy, and no matter what the future may bring, you always will be.


	7. Present Day, Brittany

You look at your watch and frown. It's been less than an hour since your impromptu stop at the gas station and already you have to pee again. Shifting in your seat, you squeeze your thighs together and begin to bounce your legs in a desperate attempt to somehow quell the sudden and urgent need to go. "San..." You half whisper, half whimper at your husband. You don't want to interrupt the heartbreakingingly beautiful song Mr. Shuester's most recent Glee Club is now performing, but even more than that, you don't want to wet yourself in public. "San, please..."

You watch as your husband slowly shifts his gaze from the somber, young faces of those currently singing, to yours; his eyebrows raising as he instantly recognizes your expression. "How bad?" He's already reaching for William, and you let him take the boy just as his future sibling round-house kicks your bladder.

All color leaves your face as you instinctively clench, glad that the chorus is still singing so that no one can hear you grunt. "Def-con One." You manage to get out as you practically shoot to your feet. There's no more exchange of words as you half climb, half scoot past your husband and daughter and into the empty aisle. Thankfully, you've been in this church before and know where the nearest restroom is. Ignoring the curious or concerned faces in the last few rows, you speed your way towards the double doors, praying you'll make it in time.

000000000000

"Gotta go, gotta go, gotta go right now..." you find yourself singing as you twist and tear up the clean wads of toilet paper in your hands. You'd made it into the ladies room without incident, only to discover that your body was capable of an even less amusing magic trick than an instantly full bladder: an instantly full bladder with a cork in it. "Gotta go, gotta go, gotta go..." bouncing your knees, you try and concentrate on relieving yourself, though in the back of your mind all you can think about are those real life medical shows where women accidentally give birth while on the toilet. It's stupid and irrational and you aren't due for another 8 weeks, but every time you feel yourself relaxing and about to void, you picture William as one of those babies on the show and immediately tense back up. Okay, so maybe it's  _not_ so irrational, the fear of going into labor early.

Sighing in both frustration and pain, you lean to the side and rest your head on the stall divider. You must have been in there a good five minutes already, and without your phone to reassure your husband, you know it's only a matter of time before his own paranoia gets the best of him and he barges in, guns a blazing. You roll your eyes, remembering that 'scare' you'd had almost three weeks ago, and how Santino had managed to have half of the cities paramedics show up at your doorstep only to find out that you'd simply fallen asleep whilst taking a bath. After that, he'd expressly forbid you to lock any of the doors inside the house. You also weren't allowed to take any more baths. At least, none by yourself.

"Oooooh thiiiiiis suuuuuucks." You begin to thump your head into the thin wall, completely unaware of the individual that had just entered the restroom. That is, until you hear a soft clearing of a throat and a tentative voice asking if everything was alright. Sitting upright, you wince and blush in embarrassment as the thing you've been trying to do for the past few minutes suddenly starts up on its own. "Uhhhhh yeeeaaahhhhh..." You try and keep the immense relief from being evident in your response, but the small chuckle from the stranger only has your cheeks turning an even darker shade of red. You soon give up trying to suppress any further incriminating noises and simply focus on emptying your bladder; hoping that this time it'll actually stay that way.

Once satisfied that you really  _are_  empty, you busy yourself for a few more minutes in the stall; hoping that the person whom had interrupted you would leave so you wouldn't have to deal with the embarrassment of potential eye contact whilst washing your hands. No such luck though. It seems as if this person is content to stand around at one of the sinks, occasionally turning on the taps, but mostly just sniffling softly. Sighing, you finally finish up and flush before reaching out to unhook the latch to your stall. Occupying yourself with smoothing out the imaginary wrinkles in your dress, you cross the small distance to the row of sinks, your eyes avoiding the silent, though obviously distressed individual just a few feet away. At least, that had been your plan. As it so happens, as soon as your hands make contact with the cold tap water of the automatic faucet, a voice you hadn't heard in over a decade gasps and calls out your name.

Straightening your shoulders as best you can in your pregnant state, you slowly turn to your right where your former cheerleading captain and once really good friend stands. "Quinn! It's good to see you." You start to smile at the woman, only to cry out in panicked surprise as she practically barrels right into you, her arms enveloping you in a massive hug. "Pregnant! I'm pregnant!" You instinctively cry out, folding your arms in front of you in an attempt to keep the overly excited woman at bay. It's not that you aren't equally as happy to see her, you just don't need the added strain on your body caused by her way too tight embrace.

Thankfully she gets the hint and quickly backs off, her hands held out in front of her as if to show that she hadn't meant any harm. Rolling your eyes, you glance down at your stomach and then back up at your former friend. "Please don't take that personally. I just, I kinda have a reason to be cautious... It's not you, I promise." You explain, part of you hoping she understands what you're implying, while another part is already regretting your putting the subject out there. Miscarriages and extremely pre-term labor really aren't the best conversation topics. Especially not with someone you haven't seen or heard from since high school.

"No, I totally get it. It's fine." Quinn immediately responds, and to your immense relief, leaves it at that. Relaxing the muscles you hadn't even realized you'd been clenching, you shift your body so that you can lean your hip against the countertop. You're really not supposed to be on your feet for any prolonged period of time, but you are pretty certain you can make a small exception in this case. "Seriously, Brittany, it's been like,  _forever_..." The woman's smiling now, and you find yourself smiling back as you take in her rather drastic change of appearance. Her once long, blonde hair is now super short and almost pixie like. It's also darker, though still looks natural in contrast with her pale skin and hazel eyes. You like this look on her. It's definitely an improvement over the pink she'd sported during most of your senior year. "So, how are you? How have you been?" Her question pulls your attention back to the present, and you shake your head for a moment as you try and collect your thoughts.

"I'm good. Things are good." You eventually respond, biting your lower lip as the woman opposite you raises a well manicured eyebrow, as if to say that she knows you're lying. Or at least, sugar coating things for her. Rolling your eyes, you shake your head and turn briefly to look at yourself in the large mirror hanging above the row of sinks. "Never  _could_  lie to you..." you muse with a laugh, glancing at the reflection next to yours as Quinn moves closer, her hand reaching out to rest on your shoulder. It's a strange feeling, though not an entirely uncomfortable one. The re-emerging familiarity is actually kind of nice.

"Uh huh... So, what is it? Santana still giving you trouble? Do I need to sort her out for you?" She's got her arms over her chest, her expression very much reminiscent of her sixteen year old 'High Bitch in Charge' self. You laugh, finding it just as amusing and irritating as you remember. "Alright, what did she do this time?" You want to wipe that knowing smirk off of her face, but also find her re-established concern rather comforting. Quinn always  _did_  have your back when things became strained between you and your then girlfriend.

"Nah, we're good." You decide not to correct her yet on her pronouns. Even though he'd given you permission to have this discussion without him, it just wouldn't feel right. Especially not with Quinn. Instead, you hold up your left hand and flash her the delicate gold band on your ring finger. "We've been married for about two years now." You grin at the immediate awe-struck look on the woman's face as she takes your hand into hers so she can inspect your ring more closely. "Not to shabby, right?"

"No, not to shabby at all." She shakes her head after a few moments, releasing your hand and smirking once more at you. " _And_ you've got a baby on the way. Is this your guys first?"

You shake your head, frowning when you realize that you don't have your phone on you and can't show her any of the hundreds of photos you have stored in it. "Nope, third. We have a daughter, Sara, who's just turned eleven, and a son, William, who'll be five in the fall." You find yourself swelling with pride over that last fact. At how your son has managed to defy every single odd that's been thrown at him. At how the doctors had said he wouldn't even survive his first night, and yet here he is, about to celebrate his  _fifth birthday_.

"Awww, that's so cool. I'm so happy for you guys." You can tell she wants to hug you again, though seems to settle with giving you one of the largest, most sincere smiles you've seen in a long time. Only, as quickly as it had appeared, it soon vanishes as a thoughtful, almost guilty look takes over her features. "I can't believe it's been thirteen years, Brit. I just, I really wish I had tried to keep in better contact with everyone." You find yourself nodding, wishing you had done the same. It's not as if social media sites like Facebook didn't make it obscenely easy to stay connected to people. And even if you weren't what your daughter would call 'tech savvy', you at least understood how to use Facebook. The FarmVille part of it, anyhow.

"I remember the last time I saw you was right before I moved to New Haven. I'd gone to see you in the hospital, you know, to say goodbye, and stuff..." She falters here, her eyes briefly locking onto yours before quickly shifting back down to her hands. You aren't really sure what your own feelings are doing, at this sudden and drastic reversal of topic, but you let her continue anyway. "I didn't think to call ahead first, so when I got there, they were just bringing you back from one of your surgeries. You were all drugged up and barely conscious... And I just... I tried saying goodbye, but... I doubt you even remember me being there." She looks up at you again, and even though you know what it is she so desperately wants to hear, you can't lie to her. Not about this.

Shaking your head slowly, you reach out and squeeze her shoulder in the same reassuring way she had done to yours just minutes prior. "To be honest, Q, I really don't remember much. Traumatic Brain Injury and all that." You weren't trying to be glib, it just sort of came out that way. "I did, however, keep all of the cards you guys sent me." This seems to snap Quinn out of her seemingly painful and prolonged apologetic state. "Okay, so maybe not  _all_  of them. I mean, the  _entire_  school? Really?" You relax a little when she cracks a smile, and continue on, "but the ones from you guys, from my friends, I kept those. They're actually in a shoebox somewhere in one of my closets. Or maybe under the bed... But anyway, the point is, I didn't throw them out. So, for whatever it's worth, even though I don't actually remember you visiting, Quinn, I  _do_  know that you were there, and that you cared." She doesn't seem to know how to respond, and you watch as eventually her eyes begin to grow damp again. "Okay, seriously, Q, you cry more than my husband does."

The words are out of your mouth before you realize what you're saying, and you watch in what seems like slow motion as both of the woman's eyebrows rise nearly to her hairline. "Husband?" She croaks out, her previous upset instantly vanishing as she attempts to digest this new and incongruous information. "Wait, I don't understand. I thought you said that you and Santana were married and-"

"Yeah... we are. It's just, kind of complicated..." You interrupt, starting to fidget as you desperately try and remember the speech Santino had insisted you rehearse with him. Unfortunately, being put on the spot like this, you can't remember a single word of it, and so can't help but flounder as you try and figure out how best to explain that Santana, technically,  _is_  your husband. "You see... Santana and I... well...  _Santana_... She's actually... Santana's actually... kind of... no, not 'kind of'...  _is_... Santana  _is..._ actually... a... boy."


End file.
